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Julia Oct 2017
With rage I saturated the weary darkness.
With my tears I raise a temple that I thought was once destroyed.
Let the wickedness of the night soak us in.
On our bodies we carve with blood a red forest.
In the depth of sadness I slowly lose myself.
I'm lost.
If someone tries to save me...
Don't.
I'm not coming back.
The original poem is written in polish and it rhymes. In English it was very hard to accomplish the same effect.
Julia Sep 2017
Blurred faces.
I'm leaning my fevered brow against the cold glass of the window.
Intoxicated with dreams
I absorb the rain.
The deathly beauty of a never-ending storm
confronts the sea of misfortune.
I'm experiencing strange pain in my heart...
Why am I full of sorrow?
My English might not be the best but I'm trying.
Julia Sep 2017
Sad people and dark shadows
in a multi-leveled palace of misfortune,
aversion to anything,
internal hostility towards everyone,
my mask exposed to a test of time...
Will I endure?
I do not know.
I run away to the farthest corners of my palace,
to hide from the world.
My own poem. Everyone wears a mask. I'm not good with titles so I went with "No title." Just let it be.

— The End —